From 'Symbol'

Translated by Judah Rubin

From Symbol (Princeton, NJ: Asalto al Cielo/Editores, 1991)


In the dark the heart speaks or it shivers
All the same when no one approaches you
Because we smell like that sudden beast
That is no longer driven the word trembling when

It doesn’t want to be seen, to be discreet like her
Finally in her aimless wandering of a virgin denounced
By her own father, which explained nothing but
The heartless hypocrisy of a society stripped

By God’s angels tossed to the boys
But peerless lovers of the Rose preoccupied
With the apparents there is gold in the dark
What you govern, what is never finished

Remember the neighborhood summer soft serve
Prisoner of love alone like Señor Cautivo de Ayabaca
Adorned with flowers, firecrackers and a crown of thorns
Because I wrote I’m alive, don’t come close

The Samaritan instructed me and demanded a revision
It isn’t the number you represented but that which you
Made at each instant justifying the self-
Consciousness that killed you with its creepy caresses

From the pain that made your black society for you
The possible obsessed your mind ’til sweet delirium
I can also love you without love the steps you tran
Scribe don’t seek you but make you(r) sole(s) glow

There is no pronouncement you could be given
I know you want to be touched like a little girl blue
You will have it at your crazed disposal, living or distracted
No one will know your ferocity only the poet or

What’s it matter to you when the night ends
Although you intuit in your blanked destruction
The joy of knowing yourself loved without limits
In your body’s geography there is no loss.



Just wanted to rip off some beautiful verses
For a destiny denied in spite of its beauty
But twilight woke her delicately
Giving life and love in her songs sung in the htab.

Heard in an impalpable rite “in hu-myths” — XX Salazar dixit —
Bewitchingly to MOMA New York Peru country of tomorrow When!
All the presidents all the pressed all the prisoners
He’s gone Roger-rabid Maria said in the shadow detained by love

You don’t have to say it, but language turns you around
Oh how romantic for fuck’s sake she said I thought it’d arrived
“What kind of state are you in?” — asked the formerly barbarian
I knew the intelligence of desire without even seeing it

Saturday eternity of the instant midnight musician
A solitary song isn’t violence or it’s love
That transforms like a silhouette against the horizon of a
Sea you never knew for all your struggles against the wind

I don’t fuck with people who wear glasses
The strangeness of desire didn’t mess with you from there I left alone
Time where lives your secret cunt gild me in your shit
Sad toothy who danced spitting corpses

You took everything from me and all you gave me loneliness without your girls
I won’t have happiness just urban emissions
But I don’t come I glean the blue flames with which God responds
A fanzine moment picks your words and loves them

The world has to forgive you in its pure way descending
Into her silence you have to redact the document
To scratch the record like a puta caught in the beacon of the night
Tongue’s strange pose out on your mouth’s point

Ochoita was barefoot on Descalzos but both were
The poor broken and resurrected with their hatred
On corners “where uncertainty is still unknown”
Someone mentioned your name and the sun’s a sweet lash.



Poetry is a text against the World
Too much
assaulted the heavens. Encounter. Truth. Fusion
“Hey, what are you talking about” and that was where he cited
That strange Einsteinian relative relation between poets and soldiers

Your beautiful body only recovered listening to the music
Of the most turned-on kickers or something in the intimacy of the reverse
Of your panties, habitually taken off with the fury of the woman
Cut off in the clarity of the clip that I’d recorded for you to jerk it to

Because a solitary man is also a man
And redacting internal documents will have you understand another experience
Maybe that of love come to blows of a girl with clay hands
In a street scandal singing with your whiny voice

Golden in the reflection of the glass of beer and your hysteria
What were you doing looking for war one Saturday night
While the neighborhood overflowed taking itself apart
And the girls picking through their sad music

You — one of them — pure imagination radio curie
That cleansed you that day of all your bitterness and that
You’ve got to thank God for (on your black precipice
Of pain) and your electric thicket urban, urbane in shorts the color of your name

Do what you will, pardon me with the fallen pleat
Was your grandma’s, who loved you no more than my
Soul chained to your Peruvian axel
In the rimac they sound out their religious designs

It’s an architecture simple as your language
What’s war? you asked. Haven’t we always been
In it? In what, ah? Said as if smoothing down the wavebreak
In which her days magnified and she hid her innocence.